


The Window Seat

by holmo_sexual



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fawnlock, First Meeting, Fluff, Gen, I like taggng things, Jam, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, and you, cottages and books and fireplaces, feels trigger warning for Sherlock wearing John's jumper, hurrah, i like you too, lots of bookshelves, rainy afternoons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmo_sexual/pseuds/holmo_sexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only person who can stop Sherlock from being petulant and sulky in the rainy weather is, of course, John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Window Seat

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hate me. I saw a thing about how great window seats are and it just happened. I can't help it if fawnlock writes itself! Also I am not the genius bennyslegs for creating the majestical world that is fawnlock. And I apologise for not knowing how to hyperlink her. Go give her some love.

Sherlock sat in the window seat, surrounded by comforting grey cushions and snuggled in an over-sized knitted jumper, hanging a bit too loosely on his underfed frame. His tail flicked discontentedly as he glared gloomily at the raindrops racing down the golden leaves of the stained glass window. The rain poured relentlessly, as it had for the last three days. Sherlock hated the springtime. He hated the rain and he hated the rash of flowers that spread through the forest that made his eyes itch and him sneeze. Everything was hateful. Sherlock huffed out a sigh, and rubbed the tip of his newly grown antlers with the heel of his palm.

  
John flicked his head around from where he knelt across the room building the fire up.

  
“I know Sherlock, it’s all very hateful, but I can’t control the weather, so you’ll just have to put up with it. Do you want to try some more reading?” John smiled kindly.

  
“Hate-ful. Sky’s not good John.” Sherlock grumbled, tongue tripping over the unfamiliar words. A moment later he conceded. “Reading science books please.”

  
John grinned and rose from where he knelt, before padding across the cold hardwood floor to the kitchen, and putting on the kettle. A few minutes later, John returned brandishing a lemon yellow tray laden with two tea cups, a pile of scones, strawberry jam and a cosy-clad teapot. Dumping the tray on the coffee table adjacent to Sherlock with a thud, he donned a feminine tone and chided “I’m not your housekeeper, Sherlock!” Causing Sherlock to burst out into his baritone laughter, and successfully extricating him from his sulk. John giggled carelessly and strode to the wall which contained the fireplace, scanning the wall’s many bookshelves for an appropriate book to teach Sherlock to read from.

  
Finally slumping down onto the window seat between Sherlock’s outstretched legs, and leaning his back to Sherlock’s delicately muscled chest, he began to read aloud. “The thylacine, more commonly known as the Tasmanian Tiger, was the largest known carnivorous marsupial, unique to Australian lands, before being hunted to extinction by early British settlers first on Mainland Australia, and later in Tasmania, as they were thought to be pests which killed livestock…”

  
Sherlock hummed appreciatively at the influx of new information, never mind that he could not quite understand all the words. He had, after all, only begun to learn Human after his acquaintance with John, his human, a mere month ago. A smile crept across his face as he remembered their meeting. Sherlock, who had at the time had been experimenting with a new sort of mushroom and enjoying the way it made the trees hum and the dirt turn a pleasant shade of pink, had walked straight into an unfamiliar clearing on the Very Forbidden Dangerous side of the woods. He had squealed in delight, a point he furiously denied later, upon seeing a thicket of strawberry bushes and had plonked himself ungracefully to the ground, plucking the berries and tossing them high in the air, before catching them in his mouth. Sherlock, in his mushroom-skewed haze of wonder, did not even notice the ivy covered cottage at the end of the clearing, nor the small human man grasping a smooth silver stick and a watering can ten metres away.

  
John however, had noticed Sherlock, a strange, uncomfortably beautiful and definitely not human man, stumble into his back garden, which was in the middle of a deserted wood. He dropped his watering can, squashing an unfortunate snail, and tentatively stepped towards the creature, who was still oblivious to his presence. And eating the strawberries he had been growing for jam. John bristled and began to stride over towards the thief, before stopping short upon noticing a fluffy, deer-like tail that marked the beginning of a pale brown fur, which spanned over the creature’s legs, and culminated in a white, longer patch, reaching from between its legs to its belly button in a tear-drop like shape. Agape, John uttered a single word. “Fawn”. The fawn, finally noticing his audience, startled, his deer-like ears, which sprouted from an unruly crop of black curls, flicked towards John, startling in fear. “Human” He gasped, springing to his feet. Then, thanks to the cursed experiment, he collapsed back into the strawberry patch, unconscious.

  
Hours later, Sherlock awoke inside an alien place, all autumn colours, strange surfaces and too-straight lines. Everything was so shiny. Sherlock was entranced and consequently barely bothered when a human approached holding a strange leaf, filled with muddy water.

  
“Tea” Coaxed John, who was simply relieved this amazing creature hadn't died or anything, its pupils finally back to a reasonable size. Sherlock glared at the cup, confused as to its purpose. Was this some sort of primitive human medicine? Deciding to be polite, and not scare this silly human, Sherlock accepted the cup. Dipping a finger in, Sherlock twitched his hears down in a submissive, pleasant gesture, not unlike the human equivalent of smiling, only jump back at the burning of scalding tea on his fingertip.

  
John smiled at the confusion that crossed the fawn’s face. “You’re supposed to drink it. Careful, it’s hot.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed in response, and resorted to mimicking John as he took a sip from his own cup.

  
The pair finished their tea in amicable silence, curiously eyeing each other as if this might all be some elaborate trick. Sherlock finally placed his cup on the floor and rose from the comfortable, if ugly, couch. Wrapping the sheet John had placed on him in a toga like fashion, he began methodically testing his surroundings, pausing to lick the floor, stroke the light fixture, and do all sorts of odd things. It was only when Sherlock began to sniff the bookcase, inhaling the most glorious scent he had ever encountered, that John spoke. “You can have a look, you know” Sherlock cocked his head, and then spoke, in deep tones reminiscent of a purring cat, words fluid and rounded, and punctuated with a click of the tongue. Upon seeing John’s embarrassingly mesmerised confusion, Sherlock flicked his ears in the smiling gesture, this time raising the corners of his lips too, before taking the nearest book, and leafing through it, murmuring under his breath about the code written within. A second book, with the same code but different message clarified his deduction; they were some sort of communicative device, most likely one the human could read aloud. If he could get the human to sound out the words, Sherlock should be able to, in time, work out the code and translate it into Fawnish.

  
Sherlock enunciated this to John in one excited breath, thrusting the smaller of the two books at the human. At John’s hesitation, Sherlock tapped the cover of the book, and nudged John’s hand with it. Goodness, what was it like in such a tiny little mind? It must be so dull! Brushing this aside, Sherlock supposed at least he would have a decent challenge in deciphering the code and learning Human, and some sort of pet in this docile human, who made excellent tea.

  
The pair settled on the window seat, and John began to read.  
C’EST TOUT.


End file.
